Sheriff of Serenity
by Gunney
Summary: Set in 1879, after Serenity and before MacGyver's Women. The town of Serenity has hired a new Sheriff, who with his family, befriends MacGyver. However new and old enemies of both men strive to ruin things entirely. Please review!
1. Chapter 1a

Chapter 1 a

The town of Serenity sat between a long chain of mountains and the open plains. Most of the buildings were brown. They had started out fresh and white, a flash of satin on the rustic slope that started at the base of the mountains and wove its way through town. In just a few years of wind storms, hard winters and harder springs the town had begun to look like every other town in the area. Worn, drab, run down.

When Mac first arrived along with the early snows of winter he'd been hard pressed to tell this town from any of the others he'd gone through. The women, the farmers and ranchers, the busted up gold miners, they all looked precisely the same.

After a year or so of living in the town, a right that he had discovered was hard earned at best, he had started to see color in the most unusual of places.

Mac, or MacGyver, kept to himself for the most part. He tended toward a routein that most folks in the town had learned to set their watches by. The ranch land that his cabin inhabited was about seven miles out of town. Afffording him some peace and quiet and time away from the life that he had decided he didn't want anymore. He had a small herd of cattle and milk cows that roamed free through the spring and summer over thirty acres of land.

When he wasn't riding after strays he worked on the ranch house. It was in desperate need of repair when he arrived, and with out the start up money to buy the supplies he needed MacGyver had begun to make do, using what he already owned by virtue of it being on his property. He had no nails or hammer but a hot fire and an old pickaxe, and a broken brake handle, sufficed long enough for him to patch the holes in the walls and roof of the old cabin. Mac's first winter in Serenity was far from luxiourious. But the harder it became the more he was reminded of the life he'd had before. Of the killing and death that had surrounded him. The lives that he had been ordered to take, time and time again. His trials that winter paled in comparison.

Spring came and with it MacGyver was surprised by the arrival of a new Sheriff in town. The decisions had been made through the winter months to hire one on. The town was growing, was the general thought, and the bigger it got the harder it would be for the citizens themselves to keep watch for criminals and riff raff. In late May Sheriff Jim Rafferty, along with his wife and two young children rolled into town and settled in a small shack built onto the side of the new jail.

Mac had begun working on the side for the blacksmith, seeing as how he was so good with his hands, and with making things. Four days out of the week Mac was in town, working through the daylight hours and leaving just before dark. His schedule afforded him little time to make friends more than the few that had been around the day he had rolled into town. The Sheriff and his family had been in town almost a month before Mac had occasion to meet them.

Some of the women folk decided to throw a pie and plant party in honor of the young family and to help them pretty up the hurriedly built jail. The smell of fresh pies and other fixings drew Mac's attention that afternoon and as he finished his work he lead his horse towards the wonderous smells drifting down the street.

The women were more than happy to have Macgyver invited. Most of the rest of the town's men were there too and MacGyver had quickly gained the reputation of being a gentlemen of sorts, despite his gruff appearance and his tendency to avoid the meddling of women.

Mac was handed a plate and a fork and fell into the line queing up before the pie table and found himself standing behind a stranger. The man in front of him had his back turned but the set of his shoulders and the height that rivaled Mac's own was enough to tell him that Rafferty was a strong man, and proud. Used to commanding and being answered, and throwing in with his own back and arms if need be. There was no gray or silver in his hair but he carried himself like a man of forty at least, confident, affable and as Mac watched him fill his plate, a man of healthy appetite.

Grabbing a slice of his two favorites, shoefly pie and rhubarb, Mac accepted a helping of the fresh churned ice cream that was being offered and found himself a spot in the sun to enjoy the food. He kept his eye on the stranger as he did, curious.

The man's unusual appetite began to make sense when upon depositing his tall, muscular frame on the step of the jail house he was swarmed by two small children, each baring forks of their own. The large helpings of pie disappeared quickly into their eager and appreciative mouths, very little of it getting to the man who had provided it. But Sheriff Rafferty seemed just as pleased with the situation and with stood the bombardment stoically.

Mac found himself smirking behind his mustache as he scraped up the last of the tart Rhubarb and started into the sweet and bitter shoofly. As he did a second plate of pie selections found its way to the Sheriff, who had sincee sent the two ruffians off to play with the other children of the town in the school yard. This plate came in the hands of a blonde angel, wearing light blue and peach gingham. Beneath the bonnet blue eyes sparkled, reflected by the dress and shawl that she wore. Her hands were steady as she settled the plate and herself on the stoop near her husband and the two of them watched the children while they ate.

What struck Mac the most was that for the longest time neither husband nor wife spoke. Yet it was completely clear the harmony that existed between the two. There was easy pride in their faces as they watched the children and comfortable companionship as they quietly shared the sweets she had brought.

The sun had begun to set, going down early still despite the warmer days, and it cast a glow over the small family making them seem powerful and fragile all in the same breath. Had Mac known then what lay in store for them, he would have told Rafferty and his family to leave the town. To go back to where they had come from and never return. To find somewhere safe and stay there. Knowing Rafferty, though, the warning wouldn't have done any good.

Spring turned into summer and Mac's chores demanded more of his attention. The mornings he spent at the ranch tending to his own property The afternoons he spent in town helping meet the demand that new settlers and town providence put on the blacksmith. Some evenings he would be invited to dine with one of the families that he had met at the pie social and more than a few times he found himself at the Rafferty dinner table.

Mac's first impression had been fare. The Rafferty's were amiable, God-fearing people. Mrs. Rafferty had been a school teacher and hoped to provide the same service to some degree in Serenity. Both of their children were rambunctious and energetic and eager to please their parents, which was the way that children should be. Mac was especially fond of the youngest.

Jacob Rafferty was four. He bore his mother's blonde hair and his father's brown eyes and was given to setting teeth and pouting his lips at anything that stood in his way. When Mac first stepped into the small shack that was the Rafferty's temporary home, Jacob stood just inside the doorway staring up at him in wide eyed awe. It was Jacob, in fact that first pointed out one of Mac's peculiarities.

"Mister?" He'd asked, shock and bafflement evident in his young voice. "Did you lose your gun?"

Mac's eyes had sparked under the tossle of hair and he pulled his hat from his head. He smirked under the mustache and said, "Nope."

Jacob thought about that answer for a moment, one small finger scratching under his chin.

"Did somebody steal it from ya?"

Mac made a show of looking around him, as if expecting the very same hypothetical thief to be lurking behind him. Then he looked squarely at the boy and cocked an eyebrow. "No sir."

The boy took even longer to ponder the situation this time.

Finally Jacob gave a sigh that belied his age and shrugged with half his body. His voice squeaked as he asked, "Well, what happened to it?"

Mac moved to an empty rocking chair that sat just near the fire place and sat down. He put his hands out to the boy and without a second thought young Jacob welcomed himself into the man's lap.

"I sold my gun, to a man that makes them and sells them, and sometimes buys them back."

"And you didn't get a new one?"

"No sir."

Jacob worried at his lip a little, his eyes focused distantly. "Well…how you gonna shoot anybody?"

"Don't need to."

"What if they shoot at you?" Asked a new voice. Mac blinked in surprise and both boy and man looked up to the askee.

"Pa! He don't have a gun, pa!" Exclaimed Jacob in response and was lifted from MacGyver's lap into his father's arms. Mac stood and took the hand that wasn't occupied with the boy and the Sheriff and he shook. From the humor behind the question and the firm strength in the man's hand, Mac instantly took a liking to Lucas Rafferty.

"I duck." Mac answered finally. "And I thank you for invitin' me to your dinner table tonight."

For a moment Lucas stared blankly at MacGyver. They were of the same height but in every other way they were different. Mac was lean and wirey to Lucas' muscular bulk. Mac's hair was a mousey blonde to the Sheriff's muddy brown. Hazel eyes to ochre and on down the line. The most glaring difference was that Sheriff Rafferty, as a rule, almost always wore his gun. Mac's answer struck him in a peculiar way though, and after a moment of thought he busted out in a deep chested laugh. Mac smirked in return.

"It's our pleasure to have you, Mr. MacGyver."

"Just Mac, if you please. And you are?" Mac turned the question to young Jacob, who had begun to giggle in response to his father's pleasure.

"Jacob Lucas Rafferty, Mis-…Mac." Jacob thrust out a fleshy palm and Mac took it, shaking soberly in response to Jacob's grown-up response.

With a proud grin Lucas explained, "You'll be introduced to my wife and daughter in a little bit. Both of them get peculiar about being bothered when they're in the kitchen. Especially when there are guests at the table."

Mac threw his hands up in a gesture of understanding and surrender and Lucas continued. "I've yet to do the evening's walk down main street. I thought you might like to join me."

Mac was already nodding when Jacob cried, "Me too, Pa!"

"Get your hat then, tell your Ma." Lucas said patiently and the boy disappeared through the kitchen door. He was back in less than five seconds, running straight for a chair. Grabbing the pegs that formed the back of the chair Jacob dragged it to the nearest wall and clambored up until he could reach the smallest hat on the hat rack. He jammed it on his head, jumped down and shoved hard to return the chair to the table. Mac had barely managed to return his own hat to his head, and Lucas only time enough to check his gun before Jacob was ready and waiting for them at the door.

With a shake of his head and a grin he could not hide Lucas followed his son outside, muttering as he passed MacGyver, "She keeps telling me he'll grow out of this."

Mac chuckled and followed father and son, closing the door behind him. "I sure hope not."


	2. Chapter 2

Outside the night was cooling rapidly, as it was wont to do in the early months of spring. The wind that had been held at bay most of the day had begun to bustle around the narrow streets and blow loose trash and what remained of the winter's tumbleweeds against the legs of the buildings. As the cold bit at his neck and cheeks Sheriff Rafferty glanced to his boy, knowing that such a wind would have elicited a stern warning from his wife that Jacob wasn't wearing nearly enough clothing. But it wouldn't be a long walk, he thought, and guided Jacob between himself and MacGyver to shield him a little better.

Most of the commercial buildings in Serenity were dark. The blacksmith fire still glowed faintly but the sound of metal on metal had died about the time that Mac rapped a gloved fist on his front door. The smell of cold sweat and warm horse-flesh wafted from the stable next door but the animals there were at rest, un-bothered for the time being. A faint candle flickered in the window above them. The smithy.

"Walter's settled in for the night, " Lucas said pointing a finger faintly upward. Mac said nothing in response, following the gesture to its source. By the time Mac's eyes met his face, Rafferty had already moved on to another thought. Mac found himself surprised and pleased that the sheriff referred to the citizens of the town by their names, not just their occupations.

A few steps further down the main drag and to their left were the bat wing and storm doors for Serenity's most popular and profitable saloon. The severity of the previous winter had chased away some of the more unsavory element in the town and until the cattle drives and miners started making their way through, there wasn't likely to be too much activity in the late evening hours. During the day the saloon served as a restaurant and card parlor. At night the harder liquors splashed across the bar in crystal and glass, but fell into the hands of tried and true regulars. There wasn't a lot of whooping and hollering going on, just a quiet card game.

Rafferty had stepped up to the porch with his son to observe the customers inside while Mac stood on the hard crusted dirt of the main road, hands on his hips, watching a stray sheet of newspaper travel page over page down toward the hardware store. It took Mac a moment to decide on whether or not he would, or even could, catch it, before it was blown down the darkness of the alley. He took a few preparatory steps, feet that had been supporting his weight all day long, and ankles no longer accustomed to running, protesting before his calves and thighs kicked in and he darted across the street and up onto the board walk, launching himself at the paper just as the wind caught it like a sail. It flew from under his fingertips and his ill-timed leap sent him crashing into the wooden wall of Wilson's Hardware, forcing a grunted, "Oaf!" from his lungs.

He landed in the cold dust and could hear Jacob giggling half a block away.

Turning a sour look towards the five-year old he noted where the paper had landed again and pushed himself up, making a show of poising himself like a cat stalking its prey before pouncing. The five-year old howled in laughter and Mac could hear Rafferty starting to chuckle too, as they approached.

Responding to old instinct, Mac's eyes had quickly adjusted to the darkness of the alleyway, allowing him the ability to track the path of the paper as it flitted along, and to see some of the more sinister features of the alley, including some broken bottles and discarded boards with nails protruding. He was just about to warn Rafferty to keep Jacob from following him in when the Sheriff called out, "You cry out now if you need any help with that little errand, Mr. MacGyver."

Jacob laughed again at the humor in his father's voice but remained by his side. Mac offered a loud and sardonic laugh, shuffled quickly up to the paper and bent to snatch it away from the wind. It was sun bleached and dust covered, but in the faint glow from the moon Mac could see that it was old enough to be of interest to him, predating his arrival in the town. He shook some of the dried mud free and folded the paper into ever smaller squares as he moved to return to the Rafferty's.

At the mouth of the alley the Sheriff had gone down on his haunches so he could speak to his son while he adjusted the collar of the boy's coat to better protect his neck. "Now all we have to do is hire Mr. MacGyver to track down the fiend that left that litter, and we'll have the cleanest streets in all Montana."

"He could be your deputy!" Jacob said, giggling.

"That's right. My litter deputy. Sworn to keep the dirt free from trash. He won't need his gun after all." Luke said, smirking as his son's eyes grew wide.

Stopping at the point where the shadows ended and a slice of moonlight highlighted the other man's face, Mac rocked back on his heels, carefully placing the folded newspaper in the left hand pocket of his coat. A tiny smile was brewing under his full mustache as he watched Rafferty straighten, the hand of his boy tucked in a giant palm.

"Now, now, Sheriff. No need for that. I was just doing my civic duty." Mac muttered.

Rafferty smirked, still baffled at the memory of the peculiar man taking off after a discarded old news sheet. He clapped a hand on the arm of Mac's old coat and turned to head further down the street. "If you ever want the job, " he said. "You just let me know."

Young Jacob walked with his father, his head turned to keep track of Mac until he joined them. They walked together past a boarding house, the post office which would soon also serve as a cable office, and across a large intersection deeply scored by ruts from heavy wagons and horses hooves. The hard grooves would be mud by noon of the next day, and new ruts and prints would replace the old ones. A tiny aspect of town life that Mac found he loved, more and more. He'd spent entirely too much time on his own, he decided.

The second half of main street was far less developed, showing gaps here and there that had the start of new buildings, or signs proclaiming lots for sale, or already sold. Pointing toward the end of the street at a lot covered in yellowed grass and small scrubs, Rafferty said, "The new school will start there. 'Lise has been pestering the town council about it just enough for them to make a show about getting it built."

"That's the start of civilization." Mac said, his voice thoughtful. Had he been a resident of the town for longer he might have felt pride but he still considered himself too much of a stranger. It didn't escape him that the Sheriff was even newer than he was. Too much time alone, Mac, he thought.

The Sheriff sighed as they reached the end of the street, crossed it and headed back the way they had come. "Civilization.." He said bitterly, shaking his head, but not explaining any further.

Mac pursed his lips, causing his mustache to ripple, a gesture that the troops who served under him not that long ago used to quickly recognize as a sign that their troubles were about to begin. To them it meant that Mac was thinking, and when an officer starts thinking all hell is about to break loose. Remembering the reactions of the NCOs closest to him, men that had been his equals longer than his lesser, gave him a bittersweet feeling of his own that matched the silence of the town.

Jacob walked between the two men, seemingly unperturbed by or perhaps oblivious to their moods. More and more Mac found himself intrigued to curiosity about the man that had taken over the protection of Serenity. Sheriff Rafferty's origin and experience had never been fully fleshed out in the few news articles published since his arrival, and yet he wore authority, strength and experience as easily as the Stetson on his brow. And as openly as the star on his chest.

Mac was rolling a probing question around in his mind as they neared the same alley he had ventured into minutes before. He never got the chance to pose it. The shuffle of a booted and spurred foot in the dust across the street was the only warning, and all that was needed, to draw the attention of both men to the darkness of the alley. Mac, closest to the alley, turned fully towards the sound just as flame and steel belched from the darkness. There were two guns in play, both fired as rapidly as was possible by a single shooter. The twin flames were too close together for there to be two attackers. This much registered in Mac's mind before he spun, grabbed Jacob and ran for the nearest cover.

In the moments of time between finding the barrel of nails on the boardwalk and launching himself and the boy behind it two more things happened. Mac felt a tug at his coat and a heavy punch to his left hip that could only mean that one of the slugs had found him, and he saw Sheriff Luke Rafferty, gun already in hand and firing, jump backward with a look of surprise on his face that silenced his gun, and the gun on the other side of the street.

For a moment Mac could only hear his own labored breathing, the fast, feather light breaths of Jacob, trapped beneath him, and the sound of water running somewhere onto the cold ground. Pushing himself up with one elbow he checked on the young boy, who stared back at him unhurt but wide-eyed with fear, then called out, "Rafferty!?"

A stifled grunt answered him, followed by the scrape of clothing on the ground and the dull metallic thud of something heavy settling in the road.

The pain hadn't reached him yet, only a faraway dull throb and the numbness that told him the bullet that had struck him might have hit bone. Mac pushed himself up further, managed an awkward crouch behind the barrel that allowed him to turn toward where he had last seen the sheriff, and chanced a fleeting glance around the barrel toward the alley. It was silent, dark, nothing but the slow drift of gun smoke coming from both sides of the street and meeting in the air.

"I...think I got him."

Mac felt himself sigh at the sound of the voice. Strained but strong enough, coming from where Rafferty lay on the ground.

"Pa?" Jacob called softly, his voice shaking with tears.

"Stay- Stay where you are Jacob. I'm fine, son."

Disbelieving eyes immediately met Mac's and he tried a smile on that hid beneath his mustache and didn't quite reach his eyes. The pain he had been hoping to avoid was starting to make itself known and there was warmth and wetness against his leg and creeping toward the hand supporting him on the boardwalk.

"I'm coming your way, Sheriff. Don't shoot me too." Mac muttered softly, forcing a hard breath through his lungs as he shifted his legs, his hip starting burn. He rushed out into the street, managing two long strides before his leg collapsed, depositing him near enough to the fallen sheriff that the move might have appeared intentional to anyone at a distance. Tears sprang to his eyes but Mac drew in another breath and ran his hands over the sheriff's coat, searching for the blood that he knew would be there.

"I can't- I can't feel my legs." Luke said, his voice hushed to barely a whisper. He sounded matter of fact but Mac could see the terror in the man's eyes and simply nodded, pushing aside the sheepskin coat to find the wound, on the right side of the man's belly.

Mac had no medical training beyond that which is earned when a man goes into battle with 100 men and only returns with the few that he could carry on his shoulders. The wound was bad, but not bleeding near enough. The bullet had to have been close to the man's spine, and that meant any move on Mac's part could end his life or save it. With emphasis on the former.

"It's bad." He said, with the same bottom line tone, "But yer not dead yet."

Rafferty grit his teeth as he nodded, his hand finding Mac's arm and squeezing hard enough to bruise. "My boy..?" He asked, drawing in a sharp strained breath.

"He's safe. He's fine. I'll see him home."

Rafferty's grip lessened only a little, his face visibly paling in the moonlight. Seconds later there were footsteps. Tom Wilson, of Wilson's hardware had been wakened by the shots and was running towards them in hastily thrown on clothing, with a shot gun in hand. Before he could get to them Rafferty, with a strength and presence of mind that shocked Mac, pointed Wilson toward the alley.

"Be careful, check if he's still there, he's armed."

A wave of nausea swept over Mac, causing his face to flush against the cold and his stomach to churn. A fleeting gesture of his hand confirmed that he was still bleeding. His mind begged him to lay down, his body demanding it in non-negotiable terms, but his heart kept him upright. He found a kerchief in the sheriff's shirt pocket that he pressed down over Rafferty's wound, holding it there until other hands, Walter the smithy's as it turned out, replaced his.

The town's doctor, a fairly young man, flew from the door of the boarding house and headed their way. Wilson emerged from the shadows of the alley breathless and clearly disappointed. More men and a few dressing gown clad women were emerging onto the street and Mac soon found himself crowded and in the way of progress. As the doctor took over the ministrations for the Sheriff, Mac grabbed the arm of his some time employer, and Walter helped him upright.

The smithy moved as he was directed, helping Mac limp toward Jacob who stood behind the nail barrel, watching the commotion that surrounded his father with silent tears covering his face. Leaning on Walter, Mac offered his right arm to the boy and grunted when Jacob leaned hard into him. He expected the boy to begin weeping in earnest but was shocked to feel a hard fist pound against his ribs in a steady, desperate rhythm. Before he could say anything a high pitched screech drew the hubbub to a halt and a flurry of skirts and blonde hair burst through the crowd. Alise Rafferty dropped to her husband's side for a moment, frantic but not hysterical. She knelt there long enough to squeeze her husband's hand, kiss his brow, and hear him speak a few words before she stood and rushed toward her son.

She registered Mac's presence only long enough for a fleeting look of sympathy before she called Jacob's name and he responded instantly to her presence. With the boy in her arms she walked back to the crowd of men carefully working her husband onto a flat board stolen from a nearby construction site. In unison six men surrounded the wounded sheriff, lifted the board and its burden, and began carrying it to the boarding house. The doctor, unable to help the wounded man until they were both in better light, turned toward Mac, his mouth busy with mutterings, his eyes intelligent but distant.

"Doctor Caldwell..." The young man introduced himself before nimble fingers patted at the blood soaking Mac's side, pushed coat and shirt out of the way and palpitated the wound. When Mac groaned the doctor spared a quiet, "Sorry." before pursing his lips angrily.

"Bring him along then." He said to Walter before he strode with distracted intent after the men that looked more like pallbearers than rescuers.

Yielding to his labored pace, Mac and Walter turned and followed the macabre procession.

"New doctor." Walter groused, softly. "Far too young to be trusted. Has all kinds of ideas. Wanted to examine my wife!"

In more pain than he thought possible Mac wasn't about to interrupt the man's rant, no matter how disturbed he was by it.

"Said women her age ought to be examined once in a while because of some...thing or other. The nerve."


End file.
